My Divorce from Rolling Stone

Have you seen the latest cover of Rolling Stone magazine?

Must be that I’ve officially joined the “40 and over” crowd, but I enjoyed writing this email to Rolling Stone’s circulation department.

I have attempted to cancel my subscription for a while now, but you insist on sending me your magazine. How do I put it another way than “I don’t want it.”? I’ve done this online, via phone, stopped payment, yet you continue to send it to me. Please stop. Please, please stop.

You don’t need to send me a survey asking why, or a special discount offer to remain a subscriber. I will simply tell you why:

Your content is of no value to me. If I wanted to join the Lady Gaga fan club, I would’ve done so long ago. Ditto Katy Perry. There is nothing of use to me in your magazine, so please….make it go away. Furthermore, as a father of two young, impressionable children, I simply can’t have your magazine lying around the house. I hide it like a pervert hides porn. If the recent covers weren’t enough (naked Lady Gaga, near-naked Katy Perry, naked blood-drenched cast of True Blood), the contents would certainly do the trick (“effing a crucifix” is not the pull-quote I want my children to memorize).

So, by now, you’re getting a good chuckle at this prude who can’t handle a little edgy content. And you’re rightly conceding that, “then Rolling Stone is not for you!” I agree. Then why do you insist on sending it me? Please stop. Just make it go away. I know you want to boost your subscription numbers to sell advertising, but I have no interest in being a pawn in your deceptive media-planning game.

10 huge thumbs up! I actually throw mine away the moment I get it. Never subscribed, but like a bowel movement…here it comes…

The fact that it goes straight from the mail to the trash doesn’t sound so “green” to me. But I never asked them to send it to me. It’s like when you come out of the mall, and as you drive off you realize a flyer is stuck under your wiper blades. Eventually it comes loose and flies away. Are you the litterer, or is the guy who stuck it there without your consent?